


Title TBA

by PurpleDino385



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleDino385/pseuds/PurpleDino385





	Title TBA

Life and death.

The beginning and the end.

Anything that happens between those two points is up to the person living it. We can’t control what we are born into. Sometimes, a person can try as hard as they want and still receive nothing from their efforts. Sometimes, luck can grace a person with its presence and give them something that they didn’t deserve. Luck is a coin whose faces are one and the same. Luck isn’t a coin you necessarily flip.

But even if where we start is different, can we end up in a place we want to by the time our mortal lives end?

Within human beings, there are different nationalities, ethnicities, beliefs, morals, and levels of capabilities. We vary in size, face, hair, shape, and even aspirations. But even when you are born into something, it’s okay to believe you want to do something else… right?

Differences make us unique and adaptable, yet we hurt each other for it. It scares me to think that I’m different from you. I’m different from everyone else. We are alike in so many ways yet not the same.

Most of us have secrets. I am no exception. I have many secrets that I conceal within me, but through one of my secrets, I have met many people. I have seen many lives come before me, and I’ve lent a hand to those who were in the dark for I shed a light that guided them to new beginnings. But by no means am I a god; I am a normal mortal human being who is imperfect. I have sinned, made mistakes, and cleaned the pieces from the messes I’ve made. I simply guide souls with regrets into the afterlife for reincarnation. A part of their soul and character remains, but it is regained with every new life. I make sure people are at peace before a part of them says goodbye.

* * *

I knocked on her door. I had only received her name. We haven’t even met. She opened the door.

“You’re here to pick me up?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, I’m going to need to get something. You can come in if you like.”

She walked back inside. I invited myself into the quaint house. The stained hardwood floors paved down the hallway. I could hear shuffling in the back where her room was located. There was a living room with an old flower-print couch on the side. There were pictures on the mantle of a girl growing up through the years. She was riding her bike in one then catching fish in another. As she grew older, she began to wear more makeup and began to smile a little less. The fine china dishes were untouched in the cabinets collecting dust. It was a fine home. I walked down the hall with my steps echoing with every touch of the dark hardwood. Pictures lined the walls.

“Did you draw these?” I pointed to the images boxed by frames in the hallway by her room. She didn’t respond. It started with juvenile portraits of her mom, dad, and her. She began drawing simple flowers then ballgowns and dresses. Her final portrait was of a solemn crying face that seemed to belong to her. I turned and entered her room. It was a little cold, but it was mostly neat besides a few pieces of clothing on top of the dresser. “I’m not done yet. Can you please wait outside?” Her voice was shaking. I may have only caught a glimpse, but it was all I needed. She stood over her desk with teardrops cascading down her face. Her hands trembled subtly as it held a picture frame in her hand. She took a minute to recuperate then met me outside.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

We began walking down the cracked pavement. There was no one around. The world seemed quiet and untouched.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Lucy Hadfield.” She grew stiff.

“How old are you?”

“I’m… 18.” She was uncomfortable.

“May I ask—”

The wind blew a gust. Her flowing blonde hair glistened in the setting sun. She still had tears in her crystal blue eyes. “May I ask how you died?” Her body let go. A few more tears streamed down her face. She tried to smile. She scoffed with a shaking voice, “Shouldn’t you already know?” The clearest and most honest tears streamed from her face.

She sighed, “I had already gotten everything out of the way too. My soul was put at peace the moment I died. There was nothing left unsaid.” She tried to laugh and gasp for air. “I think my parents knew it was only a matter of time. I hung out with the wrong people, did stupid things, and wanted to be rebellious. I was a teenager. I… I wanted to fit in. I wanted to feel okay. I wanted to be alright. I didn’t want to fit into the norm, and I knew I wasn’t going to be accepted.”

She looked into the mirror and began to sob. “But I didn’t want to die! I didn’t want to leave everyone and everything behind. I tried so hard.” She gasped for air as tears were streaming down her face. She was kneeling collapsed on the floor.

“March 27th. Opioids. I died of an overdose! I couldn’t do anything! I was powerless! I was filled with regret. The paramedics tried their best to save me. They injected me. They performed CPR. I was too far in. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Why did this happen? I felt trapped. No one listened! Why does no one listen?! I cried for help! Why did they leave me alone?! My anxiety was a monster. It got out of hand, and my parents didn’t want to do anything about it! It was just recreational pot at first. Then it went to pain killers, cocaine, but nothing stopped it. I felt so lost. I tried to kill myself, and my parents still didn’t know what to do. They almost lost their daughter once, but they couldn’t save her! They had a name to upkeep. My dad was a reputable municipal politician. My mom was a stay-at-home mom. I was tortured by the circumstances I was born in; can’t you see? I just wanted someone to look out for me, someone to help, and when I thought I found the right people, it just got worse. I understand now that they didn’t know what do to. I get it.”

She tearfully smiled, “My soul is at peace knowing that my parents now accept what happened. They know their faults. My father now advocates for mental health. I couldn’t be happier, so why… why am I still so upset. Why am I still crying?”

“I do not know. I sincerely apologize.” I bowed again. I was lying. She had a right to still be in pain. One of the hardest parts of my job was putting a straight face. Almost everyone I meet who has died may be at peace, but many of them do wish to live again to see their loved ones. It is not that they are not at peace, but they simply desire something that has been taken away from them. You truly don’t know what you have until it’s gone. “I can assure you that—”

“Why am I still in pain?” she asked. “It hurts so much…” she clutched her chest. “How can my heart hurt if it’s not even beating?”

“Even though the pain from the mortal world is lifted upon death, some pain transcends beyond while some new feelings may emerge.” She rose from the ground and slapped me. She raised her fist angrily before setting it back down.

“What am I doing? I’m just delaying the inevitable.” Her arms slung by her sides. “Please, let me say goodbye to them. I was a terrible daughter. A terrible human being. It’s not their fault they didn’t know what to do. Please, I want to share some time with them.”

The tears slowed but never stopped. I stayed outside the room. A thought lingered in my mind. There was a letter addressed to her that was written post-mortem.

 _“To my beautiful daughter Lucy,_  
Your father and I miss you very much. He’s fighting hard every day in your place. Sometimes I find him asleep on his desk with drool on his paperwork. We think of you every day. Your life never leaves our minds. We’re sorry for how we handled your grief. We should’ve been there when you needed us. I’m now giving speeches and seminars to parents everywhere. As much as we miss you every day, we don’t want your efforts to go to waste. We’ve got it from here! Thank you for being our daughter. We are so proud of you,  
\- Mom”

It was in a frame covered with tears.

She walked into the kitchen where both her parents were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying dinner. A certain glimmer was missing from their eyes. Their smiles were pained, and their movements were strained. She embraced them hard. She didn’t want to let go. Not yet. Her parents paused it was as if something had come over them. Tears filled their eyes, but they did not know the cause.

“Mom, Dad, I love you. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.”

She began walking out of the house and gave her final goodbyes. I managed to read the piece of paper that was beside the picture frame scattered with tears.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked.

“Your spirit will remain here, but your life will be passed on for reincarnation. In essence, your spirit in this lifetime will never die and will always remain, but your life force will be reborn.”

She stepped through the doors of the afterlife. It’s an experience few can describe, but I have seen it countless times. You may feel like you are alone in death, but you never are. Loved ones and other’s spirits will guide you through the unknown. Everyone experiences it differently, but nobody is ever forgotten or alone. Even in life, you may feel isolated, you may feel like you are forgotten or alone, but that is never the case. Someone, whether it’d be through spirit or guidance, is always there. She waved goodbye as she faded with the doorway. She had a smile on her face, but unlike before, it was one that was pure and true. Her soul was truly at peace, her spirit was released, and she was free to move on to her next life without being burdened by her past. Lucy Hadfield will never be truly dead like some in life believe; she will simply be beyond the mortal’s view watching over those she loves and cares about.


End file.
